Danarius
by ScribbledInHaste
Summary: A re-imagining of the encounter with Danarius where the Magister is a serious threat, even after his death. Some creative license, especially with how the Fade operates. Not entirely canon. In this world, Hawke romanced Fenris in Act Two but that romance doesn't carry over to Act Three. All characters and settings belong to Bioware. I just play here. Rated T to be safe.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: I've got about 5000 words right now. Trying out posting this as shorter chapters instead of all in one go. Switching POV from Fenris to Hawke in each chapter.**

He knew she was there the moment she crossed the threshold of the dilapidated mansion he claimed for his own. His tattoos itched at her approach, as though electricity was building before a storm. He reflected that this might be an apt analogy for what was about to happen.

It was too late to back out now, he thought. He'd almost hoped she might not come, that she might hate him enough that she would ignore his request. They had seen precious little of each other in the past three years. They hadn't spoken at all since. . . he jerked his thoughts away from that night. It didn't matter. He'd sent the request, and she had come. Now he just had to see this through.

She knocked politely on the study door, assuming that he would be there.

"Hawke," He called, keeping his voice steady.

The door opened and Leandra Hawke entered the small, dark room. She'd never liked to be called by her first name. Even less now that her mother—her namesake—had died in an unspeakable manner.

"You called?" she said flatly, an eyebrow arching.

"I—I have no right to ask this of you," Fenris stammered. He clenched his fists, and paced back and forth before his fire place, afraid to look her in the face. "I know that, but," he took a deep breath, "I need your help." There, he'd said it.

He'd almost hoped she wouldn't come. He didn't know where the two of them stood. After he'd left her three years ago, well, they had been friendly. She'd never been anything but friendly. But they hadn't been alone together since that night. She rarely requested his help on missions. And she never stopped by to see him anymore.

He turned his back to her, resting his hands on the mantle piece and waiting. She had no reason to be kind to him, and ample reason to use this as an opportunity for retaliation after what he had done. If she intended to do so, coward that he was, he couldn't face her as she rejected his plea.

The silence in the room stretched out, until he thought she hadn't heard him. "My help?" she finally asked softly. "We aren't exactly friends, Fenris." She didn't say it with any venom or loathing. Only stated it flatly, as a matter of fact.

"I know," he turned to face her, relieved that she hadn't shut him out . . .yet. She sat in a chair near the fire, her staff resting across her knees. One hand encircled the staff, and her chin was propped on the other. A slight frown creased her brow, but otherwise her face was carefully neutral. "But my sister has been found."

"Really?" She lifted her head, looking startled. "So Hadriana wasn't lying?" she mused softly. She studied him for a moment, and he felt himself growing hot under that gaze, remembering all too well the last time she had studied him so intensely. "You think its a trap," she said. It wasn't a question.

He nodded.

"Okay," she responded quietly.

"You're wondering why I've asked you," He rushed on, cutting her off before she could say anything else. He began pacing again, finding it difficult to meet her gaze. "You're wondering why I do not ask Anso to hire someone to help me like I did before? I know that you owe me nothing and I have no right to ask anything of you. But I cannot do this without you, Hawke. The last time Danarius found me, he commanded me to kill my protectors, and I did it. I cannot trust myself, and I find I have few allies to turn to."

He found her smirking slightly. "Actually, I was wondering when we are going? Now?"

The relief that flooded through him was intense, and it was only then that he realized how much he had been dreading asking her. "Thank you," he whispered, sinking into the chair opposite hers.

She shrugged, "No need to thank me. Killing people and helping people is what I do," she quipped lightly, but her smile looked more like a grimace.


	2. Chapter 2

Hawke stalked grimly towards The Hanged Man, her nerves on edge. When Bodhan told her Fenris had requested to see her, Hawke was angry at the way her heart leapt. It was silly. Stupid. The man had walked out of her bedroom and out of her life three years ago, and she still wanted him.

The smart thing to do would have been to ignore Bodahn's message. But she didn't. Through some perverse masochistic inclination she'd decided to confront him. She hadn't expected this. But she thought of poor Bethany, or even Carver, and she hadn't been able to say no. This was about family. And family was more important than her wounded pride, or a bruised heart.

"You sure you want us to wait out here, Hawke?" Varric asked, his cross-bow held loosely over his shoulder.

Hawke chewed on her lower lip for a moment, running scenarios in her head. Then nodded decisively. "We might well scare off Fenris's sister if we all approach at once."

Varric nodded.

"And if this isn't what it seems?" Aveline asked quietly.

"If it is a trap," Hawke said, "Danarius might hold back if he sees all of us. He might just spring it later when Fenris is alone. I'd rather spring it now, on my terms." She met Fenris's gaze briefly, noting the startled look in his face. _Ass_, she thought, even as she felt her guts twist at the realization that he believed himself so alone that he would react with surprise at someone looking out for him. "Aveline, you guard the front door. At the first sign of trouble—"

"I'll be there." Aveline said, a determined look on her face.

"And Varric" Hawke began.

"Sneak around back and let Bianca do what she does best?" Varric drawled, a smirk on his face. Hawke nodded, an answering smile tugging at her own lips. "You two be careful," he said more seriously.

She nodded again, glancing at Fenris. His jaw was set and he shifted back and forth on the balls of his feet, hands clenching and unclenching. 'Careful' didn't look to be anywhere in his game plan.

'Restrained' looked like it was going to be hard to achieve as well. The elf was wound so tight he was likely to snap. She felt another twist of her gut, but studiously ignored it. Yes, this had to be hard for him, but there was nothing she could do about that. She was doing all she could, and likely more than she should. If this went wrong, she didn't want to see what happened if his former master instructed him to kill her. He'd already figuratively ripped her heart out. She really didn't want to participate in a literal reenactment.

They entered the shadowy interior of Lowtown's favorite pub, and Hawke tensed. Something wasn't right. It was teasing her nerves, dancing in the air. Waves of energy rippling the fade. She felt slightly sick and disoriented. Grasping her staff with her left hand, she tried to reach out to Fenris with her right, to stop him from advancing.

She was already too late.

A red-headed elf rose from a table in a shadowy corner and breathed the word "Leto," like a prayer.

"Verania," Fenris replied in a hoarse voice, wonder and comprehension written all over his face. "I remember you."

"Fenris," Hawke managed to choke out, her eyes closed and her teeth clenched against the spiraling pull of the fade, "it's a trap."

"You betrayed me," Fenris snarled, turning on Varania.

Hawke was already casting rock armor when the source of the fade's disturbance appears above her on the landing to the Inn portion of the Hanged Man. "Fenris, my little wolf. In the company of another mage, I see?" His voice was smooth like butter and as he spoke he viciously twisted the fade again, drawing demons towards him like the center of a whirlpool. Hawke gasped and staggered, nearly losing her footing. Fenris gave her a concerned glance, as he unsheathed his sword. She shook her head mutely steadying herself.

The Hanged Man patrons screamed at the sight of the demons, scrambling to the sides, attempting to flee and—because it _was_ the Hanged man—placing wagers on the outcome of the impending fight.

Any thoughts that Danarius would have hesitated to spring his trap upon seeing a company of four instead of two vanished. This was a powerful mage. So powerful he was tossing her about on the ripples of the fade as though she were a rag doll. She wasn't sure she was going to be able to cast anything useful and the number of demons that sprang up, obedient, at Danarius's feet made her wonder whether there was anything the others could do as well.

Speaking of which, Varric and Aveline still hadn't made an appearance.

Hawke stalled for time. "You must be Danarius. I've heard so much about you," she called out.

"And, if my eyes don't deceive me, you are the Champion of Kirkwall. Fenris, I'm impressed. You do manage to seek out the most powerful of masters, don't you. A prudent decision, for a slave."

"I'm not—" Fenris began, but Hawke cut him off, still desperate to keep Danarius talking, keeping an ear out behind her for Aveline's advance. She'd yelled _it's a trap_ loud enough, and the screaming patrons should be a tip off that all was not well in any case. But still her friends had failed to come charging to the rescue.

"So you have heard of me? I was unaware that my reputation proceeded me all the way to Tavinter."

"Indeed. I've come to reclaim my property," Danarius replied, eying Hawke. She could sense that he was trying to judge her strength. The wariness in his eyes surprised her. She'd have to remember to ask Varric what stories he'd been telling about her recently. They must be impressive if they were enough to trouble this man.

"As you can see," Hawke rushed in, preventing Fenris from denying his slavery again, "he is already claimed."

Fenris wheeled around, fixing Hawke with a look of pure hatred. She swallowed hard and looked away. He would likely never forgive her for this. But, _we're not exactly friends, are we_ she thought. _If this gives Varric and Aveline time to get here, then Fenris can hate me forever. Better that than us all getting killed_, she thought to herself, trying to believe that she didn't care that he was giving her the coldest glare she'd ever seen.

"I am not an unreasonable man," Danarius said, advancing down the stairs towards her. He held her gaze, his mouth twitching, as though he found something amusing. She suddenly wondered if he knew that she was stalling for time. "Doubtless we can work out some sort of compensation?"

Hawke held her footing against the pull of the fade, intensifying now that Danarius was so close. "What did you have in mind?" she asked softly.

"No," Fenris shouted, his lyrium blazing. Hawke closed her eyes and bit her lip. He'd snapped. The stall tactics were over.

He rushed at Danarius in a blur of speed, only to be held back by a force field that snapped up around the mage. His roar of anger and frustration rent the air as he turned and sliced through the first demon that approached him.

Hawke lost sight of him in moments. He was swarmed by demons. Hawke was, at present, not a target. She didn't know if that was because Danarius believed her lie about willing to bargain, or because he didn't actually perceive her as a threat, but she made good use of it nonetheless.

She aimed a mindblast at the cluster of demons surrounding Fenris, and then chain lightening leaping through their midst. They scattered and some of them fell. Too few.

Fenris, cleared of his obstacles and still unable to attack Danarius through the force field, turned on her. _Ah, of course_ Hawke thought grimly, _I should have anticipated that_. While Danarius might suspect her of lying, Fenris was all to willing to believe the worst of her.

"I did not expect this from you," Fenris hissed, tightening his grip on his great sword and leaping towards her.

"I haven't betrayed you." Hawke backed up even as she cast a fire ball at the demons surrounding them. Fenris hesitated. He seemed to want to believe her, but wasn't sure. "If I wanted to betray you, I would have by now. I've had ample opportunity," she added. Then, in desperation as he still advanced, she shouted "You came to me, remember? You started this." His face turned from hesitation to shock. It was exactly the accusation she'd flung at him the day he had left her after. . . after that stupid night together. She hadn't meant to use the same words.

"And so this is your retribution?" He stated grimly, tears in his eyes, his sword shaking in his hand, angled down, his shoulders slumped in defeat.

Still no Aveline. Still no Varric. The fade pulling at her senses. Most of the demons were down now, but she knew Danarius was collecting his power behind that barrier, and felt a flutter of fear as she sawthe barrier come down. She had to do something, now. In another heartbeat there would be nothing left to do but admit defeat. "I'm sorry," she whispered to Fenris as she hit him full in the chest with her force magic, pulling him and the lingering bar patrons together and snapping a barrier around them all. He froze, surprise and pain in his face. But, held fast under her spell, Fenris and most of the otherswere protected from Danarius's curses.

In the next instant Danarius was before her. She hadn't even seen him move, but he was there, his demons pinning her in place on either side, her staff clattering to the floor. "He does not understand the game you play," Danarius said softly, running a finger down the side of Hawke's face. "My little wolf was always quick to judge and slow to understand. Did you imagine to fool me too, my pretty bird? But you're game is at an end. I believe that spell was the last you could cast. I have rent the fade in two, you cannot draw on it anymore."

Hawke had no staff and no use of her limbs, but she wasn't down yet. She reached for the fade, finding only fragments that tore at her mind and pricked her skin. But there was enough. _There had to be enough. _She fired a mind-blast at Danarius and felt a grim satisfaction at seeing him stagger to the floor, his demons flung back. "The fade's been torn to shreds here," she agreed "but shreds have their uses."

She unsheathed her knife and swung blindly, luckily slicing the neck of the demon on her right before spinning to deal with the one on her left. She dispatched both in a matter of seconds, the training Isabella gave her apparently not forgotten. She turned to face Danarius, knife in hand.

Danarius struggled to his feet, his mocking smile replaced with stern anger. "You are stronger than I thought, pretty bird, and more willful. But that was a foolish waste of your energy. I doubt you have much more in you. And you cannot hope to defeat one such as I with that," He gestured at the knife, smirking.

"Well, that makes two of us," Hawke panted, "If I can't draw on the fade, neither can you. Want thumb-wrestle for the victory?" she quipped back with a bravado she didn't feel. Her legs were shaking from the effort of holding her barrier in place. She could just see Fenris over Danarius's shoulder, staring at her with wide eyes full of fear and confusion.

"If you would release the elf and drunkards from your protection, you would probably have enough energy left to save yourself. But I doubt you will do that willingly," Danarius smiled. "You are correct, of course. I can no more draw on the fade than you. But, there are other places of power," he murmured advancing on her, staff in hand.

He fired a bolt of electricity from his lyrium-infused staff. Hawke dodged it clumsily. He fired another. She wheeled out of its way, smelling singed hair and burnt clothes. Again he fired. Again she narrowly missed the bolt.

"Why are you so terrified of what you are?" He asked, closing the gap and firing rapidly. She stumbled among the torn shards of the fade. Invisible lines of energy ensnared her and her own exhausted limbs tripped her up. He fired and fired again, driving her back until she was pressed against the wall. He was standing so close that his breath whispered against her face. "Let me show you the power concealed within you," he whispered in her ear a moment before he stabbed a ritual knife deep into her belly.

She gasped, unable to say more as he withdrew his knife, allowing her blood to pump freely. Her blood swirled around them, filling the tavern with the tang of metal and the crackle of concentrated magic.

Demons appeared again, twice the number she had already killed. Hawke pressed her hand to her belly trying to staunch the flow of blood. The physical pain of the wound was soon lost in a cold numb sensation creeping down her spine. _Hmm, must be going into shock_ she thought dully. But nothing could stop the flow of power. _He's draining me_ she realized. The mindblast she had aimed at him a few moments ago had left her feeling empty. But it was nothing compared to this. She was being squeezed. Stifled. Suffocated. Drop by drop, he was pulling her magic from her. Magic she didn't even know was there.

"Not long now, my little wolf," he turned his back on Hawke, facing Fenris. "Your protector's blood will be your undoing."

The barrier flickered around Fenris and he tensed inside. She couldn't hold it. Not now. Danarius was battering it with her own blood's power. The demons began to advance on Fenris again, surrounding her guttering force field. _And what can I do_? Hawke thought wildly, fighting to stay on he feet.

But suddenly another thought entered her mind. _He turned his back on me! Ass. Arrogant Ass._ She tightened her grip on her small knife, still held fast in her left hand, and took a deep steadying breath. She was only going to get one shot at this. Bracing herself, she launched away from the wall, grabbing Danarius's hair with one hand, forcing his head back and slicing through his jugular with the knife. He gasped, eyes wild in confusion, blood gushing from his neck and his mouth. He fell. Dead before he hit the ground.

"Can't hope to defeat you with this, huh?" Hawke muttered before her knees gave way beneath her.

Something caught her before she hit the ground. A blur of blue. Fenris.


	3. Chapter 3

Fenris stood helpless behind Hawke's barrier, not sure what he would do if he were free. She had offered to make a deal with Danarius. But had she meant it? Danarius didn't seem to think so. When the barrier first went up he thought she was entrapping him. He was enraged, defeated. He wanted to kill her, but knew he never could. She was the closest thing he had to a friend. He remembered his cowardice and knew that if she betrayed him now, he would have only himself to blame. He felt miserable.

But that was nothing compared to what he felt when he saw Danarius's ceremonial knife slide into Hawke's belly.

Fear was a living thing inside of him, insisting that he do something, _anything_ to save her. But he did not fling himself at the barrier, much as every muscle demanded that he do so, and he did not cry the force field would probably only hurt her more, drain her magic further and lower her chances of survival. And his cries of protest would goad Danarius on.

Both actions would also incite a riot in an already panicking population trapped behind the barrier with him. Someone was crying and someone else was being sick. Fenris studiously ignored both.

"Not long now, my little wolf," Danariusturned his back on Hawke, giving Fenris a lazy smile. "Your protector's blood will be your undoing."

And Fenris could see that he was right. Hawke had been trying to protect him. Trying to stall for time. Trying to come up with a plan. She was going to die, and Fenris had asked her to come. He'd _asked_ her to put herself in this danger.

The barrier flickered around him, failing like an oxygen-stifled fire. It would blink out soon, and he would have to face Danarius alone. He tightened his grip on his sword, determined to make it to Hawke's side the moment the barrier fell. To save her. Or at least ensure she didn't die alone.

He levelled cold eyes at Danarius, filled with the years of hate he had for this man. And that's when Danarius's head jerked back and his neck burst open. Hot blood poured down his fine magisters robes. Someone screamed.

"Can't hope to defeat you with this, huh?" Hawke muttered from behind the fallen magister. Fenris stared at her, open-mouthed. One hand wasknotted in his former master's hair, the other held her small knife. There was a fierce look of determination on her face as she glared at her fallen opponent. Not disgust. Not triumph. Just determination. He realized nothing and no one was going to stop this woman. Ever.

And he was in love with her. Had been in love with her since the moment he met her. The truth hit him in the chest like a blast of winters grasp. It was terrifying. And obvious.

Over the last three years he'd told himself again and again that the attraction between them was just physical. A stupid lusty infatuation.

He'd been lying. He knew that now.

Yes she was human.

Yes she was a mage.

And yes, he was in love with her.

How those three things could be true simultaneously, he didn't know. But they were. That could not be denied anymore.

The barrier failed as Hawke's knees gave way. Faster than thought, Fenris activated his lyrium and slammed through the cluster of demons, scattering them in his wake. He caught her before she hit the ground.

"Hey," she mumbled, "what happened to my barrier?"

"It failed," he replied curtly. He could hear the demons gathering behind them. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, knowing what must happen next. "I apologize" he said softly, as he gently lowered her to the ground.

She raised her eyebrows in confusion, obviously not knowing why he was apologizing.

"This will be. . . unpleasant" he offered by way of explanation and turned in a blur, slicing through the advancing demons that he had scattered as he charged towards her. He heard a startled cry of pain ripped from her lips as he tore through them, and cringed inside, knowing he was the cause.

This was the part of blood magic that no one ever mentioned. Demons called by blood were tied to that blood. Killing them inflicted pain on the original source. Another reason why magisters preferred not to use their own blood when casting.

Every blow her landed brought her screams to his ears. In his peripheral vision he could see her body convulse and twitch as fresh blood gushed from the deep stomach wound. He set his jaw and vowed to make every kill clean and swift. No woundings. No glancing blows. Where his sword fell it brought death. He could offer her that much.

It was over in moments. It felt like hours. When Fenris finished he stood, panting, gathering his breath. He heard Hawke's gasping whimpers and something else. Low, and soft. Chanting.

Varania.

She crouched under the table she'd sat at when he'd first laid eyes on her. She was casting, using the power of her freely flowing blood from a small nick in her wrist. He knew this spell. He remembered it from Tavinter.

A security spell.

He strode over and upended the table, sending the tavern patrons who had taken shelter there scrambling and screaming out of the way. He paid no attention to them, hauling his sister up by her red hair and striking her across the face. As spell died on her lips the back door burst open. Varric came charging in ready for battle. He could hear splintering wood out front and knew Aveline was coming as well.

Varric froze at the top of the stairs, his eyes resting on Hawke's prostrate form. "Maker have mercy," he whispered, dropping Bianca and rushing to Hawke's side. He pressed down over Hawke's right hand, adding pressure to the stomach wound.

"Hey, Varric," Hawke whispered through lips devoid of colour, "I'm on the floor of a tavern. Never thought that'd happen."

"Cheer up," Varric soothed hoarsely, "today the floor smells more like whiskey than vomit." His voice sought for levity, but didn't quite achieve it.

Aveline burst through the front door and paused, taking in the carnage. "I'm sorry," she said to Fenris, "I couldn't get the door open."

"Security spell," Fenris said shortly, pushing Varania back down, "no one could get in or out."

"Aveline," Varric cut in, "we need Blondie. Now."

Aveline noticed Varric and Hawke for the first time. She paled, but nodded sharply and dashed out the way she'd come.

Fenris turned on his sister, still lying where he'd dropped her, staring at him like a mouse cornered by a cat, a trail of blood dripping from the corner of her mouth.

"You did this," he spat. He could feel the rage building and absently noticed his tattoos engage without any memory of choosing to activate them. It would be a clean death. Cleaner than she deserved. But he had no stomach for torture, and he wanted it over.

He bent over her as she ineffectually tried to back away. He seized her by the shoulder, holding her still, preparing to drive his fist into her heart.

"Don't," the voice was no more than a whisper, but it stilled him instantly.

Without moving, he replied "she would have killed you, Hawke." _she still might succeed_, he thought_, if the Abomination doesn't hurry_. "This is kinder than she deserves."

"I don't care about her," Hawke answered. "Fenris. . . she's you're _sister_. " The blue tint of lyrium faded as Fenris considered her words. She'd lost her whole family. She had killed her own brother in the deep roads to prevent the blight from taking him. But this, this was different.

This was revenge. His tattoo's blazed to life again.

"She's right, broody," Varric called out. "Trust me. After Bartrand . . . I think I know what I'm talking about. You do something like this. . . it'll change you. Not for the better."

Fenris turned to look the dwarf in the face and saw weariness and pain there. No mocking. No joviality. For the first time, he suspected, Varric was telling the truth without embellishment or hyperbole. He nodded, shoving Varania away from him again. "Get out of my sight," he snarled at her, turning his back on her and moving back to Hawke.

"You asked for this, you know," Varenia called out. "You competed for it. You wanted those tattoos. When you won the competition, you were given a boon. You asked for our freedom. But I think you got the better end of the deal."

"I think you'd better go now before broody changes his mind," Varric remarked casually, unholstering Bianca and training her on Varania. "Or before I get a bit trigger happy. I've already killed my own sibling. What's someone else's?"

Varenia blanched, then turned and scampered off.

"Okay, now that she's gone," Varric said softly, turning his attention back to Hawke, "you still doing alright, Champ?"

Hawke mumbled a reply. It was barely audible even to Fenris's keen elven ears. A fist of ice settled in his stomach when Varric met his gaze, despair written all over the dwarf's face.


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's notes: Thanks for the reviews follows and favs so far, they are greatly appreciated. This chapter includes some non-canonical thoughts on blood magic. I'd love to hear what you think. **

"I-I" Hawke was shivering slightly. Everything was cold. So cold. Her thoughts even felt frozen. Sluggish. Useless.

"Hey, stay with me, okay?" Varric said, touching one hand to her face. She could see the movement, but could barely feel his fingers resting against her cheek. "Can you heal yourself?"

Hawke shook her head minutely, "Fade. . . torn," she gasped. There was nothing left. No mana. No energy, anywhere.

_Well, that isn't entirely true, _a thought whispered in her mind. She didn't know if it was her own or not. She knew only the smallest amount of healing. Bethany had been the star healer in the family. Even so, Hawke's body was screaming at her to heal herself. Every inch of her skin prickled with the need to cast a spell. And something was urging her to tap her own blood to do it. She was struggling not to give in. It was like struggling not to breathe under water. She knew what would happen if she did this. But her body didn't care about consequences. The immediate need drove all other considerations out.

She convulsed on the floor, her body attempting to physically buck her willpower.

She clenched her teeth and dug her fingers into her palms. _I won't give in. Won't. _The voices whispered harder, and her body convulsed again, fighting the roaring in her ears and soft grey at the edges of her vision. _Heal. Heal_. It was a command. Her world narrowed to this one battle: her will against her blood's power. Her life against her soul.

"We're losing her," Varric said. She could hear him, but he sounded far away. She wondered dully who they had lost this time, and if she'd be asked to save them. Again.

The whirling currents of her blood's power seeped past her clenched fist, making her palms itch with untapped energy.

_No. No._ she chanted to herself, even as her treacherous body demanded _yes_.

"No," Fenris's cry rent the air, startlingly close. "Hawke. I won't allow it."

He seized the hand she did not have pressed to her stomach and her body tasted lyrium. She tried to jerk away even as her fingers opened and wrapped themselves around his wrist in a vice-grip against her will. It was like a breath of clean air where there had only been salt water before. She couldn't have stopped herself from taking it even if she'd wanted to. She didn't. Faster than thought, her body began to draw on the lyrium in his tattoos to heal her stomach wound.

Varric jumped away at the first sign of healing energy.

But it was Fenris's sharp hiss of pain that brought Hawke up short. _Stupid,_ she thought,_ of course it'll hurt him_. With a huge effort of will, she let go and jerked away from him. Returning to her private battle against the whispering demons.

"You need lyrium?" Fenris asked, his voice ragged and laced with pain.

She didn't respond. There was no lyrium. Admitting that she needed it wouldn't help. Better to focus on the battle at hand.

"Take it," He said, laying his hands on her own.

It was there again. Fresh, clean, blue power driving the whispering demons away. She tried to resist, tried to pull away. But he held her hand firmly and soon the temptation was too great.

She gave in.

She drew on the lyrium ruthlessly feeding pure healing force into her wound. The roaring in her ears receded and her vision cleared as strong energy poured through her body.

She could feel Fenris's hand trembling within her own. _Let go_ she screamed at her body, finding the strength to release him again. He grunted acknowledgment and fell beside her, panting slightly.

"Are you two okay?" Varric asked quietly.

Hawke turned her head to study the elf beside her. His eyes were closed, and the lyrium in his tattoos looked dull, drained, but he was breathing. He nodded curtly, once.

"We are," she said, slowly struggling to a sitting position, testing her rapid healing. She winced. The wound was closed, but the skin hadn't knit tightly, and she would need to be careful for a while to ensure she didn't reopen it.

"Maker's breath, Hawke, I thought you were done for." Varric scrambled back towards her.

"I was," Hawke said, her throat dry. _How do you thank someone for saving your life?_ She thought. _More than your life really, your soul too_. The memory of how close she'd come to giving in to blood magic sent a small shiver down her spine. She closed her eyes and bit her lip. She owed Fenris a debt she could never repay, and she didn't know quite how to tell him.

But she had to tell him. She turned to look at Fenris and the words died on her lips, murdered by his intense glare of loathing. He was staring at her the way he had stared at Varenia. At Danarius. She felt sick beneath that gaze. Worthless. And evil. _He knows_, she thought. _He knows how close I came to being like them_.

"Thanks," she said shortly, breaking eye contact with him. It was inadequate. She owed him more than a thanks. But she could think of nothing to say to remove that look. And, deep inside, a thought whispered that he was right. She was worthless. And evil.

She was a mage.


	5. Chapter 5

**Thanks for the reviews follows and favs. This tale seems to be getting longer than I thought it would be, but I'll keep going, whenever I find the time, until its done. Hope you enjoy the latest chapter, I really enjoyed writing this one.**

"No," his cry rang from deep in his chest as he dropped to his knees beside her. "Hawke, I won't allow this." This was a battle he didn't know how to fight. His great sword was of no use here, and his sense of helplessness only deepened his resolve to do something, anything, to save her.

He gripped her arm, still slick with his old master's blood, vowing to physically hold her to life if it were pain as her hand closed around his wrist caught him by was hot and sharp, like a thousand dull knives sawing into his flesh. It was insignificant. A dull echo of the worst pain he could remember feeling, when the cursed lyrium had first been tattooed onto his skin. Easily ignored. But the taint of the tingle of magic, the taste of it in the air, and the soft glow that surrounded Hawke's stomach wound, those he could not ignore.

Those teased his memories mercilessly. Those repulsed him.

He hissed in horror and jerked away more in shock and disgust than because of any real injury. It was a reflex, done without thought. He regretted it immediately.

She let him go.

Of course she let him go. This was Hawke.

The stink of magic evaporated instantly, and she closed her eyes and clenched her jaw as her whole body shuddered against the floor boards of the old inn. Colour drained from her face leaving her usually rich, dark skin ashen and grey.

His eyes met Varric's across her body. The dwarf said nothing, just raised an eyebrow in question, giving the cursed tattoos a meaningful look. Fenris nodded, taking a deep breath. She was dying. Varric had said as much, and both of them had been in enough battles to recognize the signs. She was dying, and was incapable of healing herself without help. He could provide that help.

If he could endure her magic.

"Venhedis" he muttered under his breath. The memory of her power lacing up his arm and the smell of her casting were still repulsively vivid. It was too much like another time, another place, another mage.

_That mage is dead_ he thought fiercely to himself, his eyes flickering over to Danarius's corpse. _Both are dead, and she is nothing like them._

_Nothing like them. Nothing like her._

_Yet she did take advantage of the lyrium etched into your skin willingly enough_ a treacherous thought whispered. _No,_ he thought furiously, _that was desperation_.

_Mages will do much when they feel times are desperate enough. There is always an excuse_. It was his voice, his own words echoing back to him in thought. But they didn't apply here and now. Not now. This was Hawke.

They didn't apply to her.

Her breath was shallow and ragged. Varric smoothed her hair back from her damp forehead, humming a soft lullaby to her that she didn't seem to hear at all. She was dying. And he had brought her here.

That decided him. He could endure her magic. He could endure much worse if it meant she would survive. He _would_gladlyendure much worse, if _only_ she would survive. If only the cost of his freedom would not be her life. "Venhedis" he said again, glancing at Varric and nodding, once.

"You need lyrium?" he asked Hawke, and could hear the hoarse shakiness of his own voice. He could hear his own fear. This wouldn't be easy. But she was not Danarius. She was not Hadriana. Her magic had never before been used to inflict pain on him. She had _never_ taken advantage of him. No, he was the one who had taken advantage of her.

She seemed to have not heard him. She had gone limp. He held his breath, praying that she was not already gone. But then her breath came in a slow, rattling gasp, as her body shook again, her fingers scraping uselessly against the floor boards. She was still with them.

"Take it." He steeled himself and laid his hand in hers. Her hand tightened reflexively on his, grinding the small bones of his fingers together in an intensely painful grip.

But that was nothing compared to what happened next. The dull knives of pain washed up his arm in an instant, following the lines of lyrium etched into his neck and along his jaw, before racing down his torso and along both legs until dull, throbbing pain encircled him.

_You can endure this. This is insignificant, _he told himself calmly. And for a moment, it was true. But he knew what would come next. Coward that he was, he was afraid.

The pressure built. The dull knife-pains were no longer sawing at his flesh; they were _digging_. They were digging at his lyrium in rough, jagged stabs. He broke out in a cold sweat, shivering uncontrollably. He chest tightened under unbelievable pressure until he wasn't sure he could breathe. His jaw ached and he couldn't even open his lips to scream. The lyrium running up his chin locked his mouth firmly closed as the knives of pain dug deep into his jaw and under his lower lip. He couldn't even pull away. His body was held rigid under her magic.

Only two people had ever held him so powerless, so helpless, before: Danarius and Hadriana.

This was the curse of the lyrium. It gave his enormous power. But that power could be turned against his body as easily as it could be turned against his enemies if a mage only knew what to do.

And Hawke was doing it. The sight and smell of her magic filled his senses. It simultaneously recalled two memories to mind. The first was Hadriana laughing at his helplessness as she drained his lyrium in order to massacre the inhabitants of an alienage after an elf dared to spit in her direction. She said they weren't worth wasting good blood on. She ruthlessly burned every man, woman and child to dust using Fenris's own body to do it. And he had stood, helpless, caught under Hadriana's vice-like grip. Caught, just like this.

That memory raced across his mind, chased by another. Hawke, her mouth eager on his, hot, soft, and moist. His will power crumbling as she pinned him against the wall, her hands tangling in his hair, her scent filling his nostrils as her magic tickled and whispered along the etchings in his skin. Pinned, immobile, helplessly lost to his own raging need, his tattoos burning like white fire under her urgent hands.

The second memory was all the more painful to bear as it raced behind the first. It was as though, in virtue of their proximity, the first thought had the ability to taint the second, removing all the joy and wild abandon of that night and leaving only the memory of being pinned, immobile, helpless.

In so many ways the two memories could not be more different. But they were both magic. They were both tied to his lyrium. And they were both called up, unbidden, as the scent of Hawke's casting filled the Hanged Man.

_No, _he thought, shutting his eyes, denying the connection his mind had made between those two moments. _No. They aren't the same. I do this freely_. But it was hard to believe that when there was nothing he could do to end it. He couldn't break away from her grip now if he tried. His body was no longer his own. He shook harder and could not have said whether it was from cold, pain, or fear.

Suddenly, she released him. The pressure along every line of his body, squeezing every muscles, disappeared in an instant and he collapsed, as though his body did not remember how to support itself anymore. As though she had drained not only his lyrium, but his bones and muscles as well, leaving an empty husk behind. He lay, gasping, on the floor, not caring that his faced was pressed to the soiled boards of the Hanged Man.

"Are you two okay?" Varric asked quietly. The word 'okay' seemed inadequate.

Hawke struggled to sit up beside him, and gave him a questioning look. He managed to nod. As far as he could tell, he was not permanently damaged. His thoughts were raging. Relief that she was well warred with horror at the thought of what she had done to him, and disgust with himself for letting her do it. Too many emotions. Too many thoughts. But one rang out over the others. _She is one of them. Always and forever she will be one of them. _

But she was Hawke. She had a hold on him that had nothing to do with magic. And right now, he hated her for it.

It wasn't her fault. He knew that. She had kept her distance for three years. But those years had done nothing to diminish his feelings. He had denied it as long as he could. It could not be denied any more. But how could he love someone capable of controlling him so thoroughly?

It wasn't her fault, and he hated himself for it.

But he hated her all the same.


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's Note: Sorry for the delay. Life always gets busier for me in the winter. Not sure when I'll get the next chapter uploaded, but I will finish this tale. Thanks for all the follows and the few comments, I really appreciate it!**

The room was eerily silent to her ears now, after the thundering roar of her own blood, her own breath, and the wild crescendo of demons whispering a litany of promises if only she would give in. Her last word, 'thanks' hung awkwardly in the air, almost deafening to ears that had been bombarded with sensations only a moment before.

It was probably only a few moments, but it felt like an eternity before Varric seized her in a bear hug, sobbing unashamedly all over her neck and hair. "I thought you were a goner, Hawke. I really did," he whispered fiercely, his grip driving all the air out of her lungs.

His reaction unnerved her a bit. Lost in her own internal battle against demons, Hawke hadn't realized how close things had come. She must have been in pretty bad shape if Varric was this shaken. She hugged him back, "I'm okay," she replied, her voice shaking slightly.

"Broody," Varric said, releasing Hawke and hauling the elf to a seated position, "thank you." Then he was hugging Fenris too, and from the slight bugging of the elf's eyes, Hawke gathered the hug was just a tight.

"No thanks are required," Fenris managed to gasp out before Varric's embrace rendered him speechless.

"Nonsense, you saved our fearless leader," Varric responded, already adopting what Hawke thought of as his 'storyteller voice'.

"Varric, no" she said softly, before she'd even realized that she'd spoken.

The dwarf turned to her, one eyebrow cocked. "You don't think your rescuer deserves gratitude. Come on, Hawke, Broody really played the hero at the end there." Varric wiped lingering tears out of his eyes, which were already sparkling with creative excitement. "This is the stuff that legends are made of. I mean, now that we know everyone lived through it, this is one hell of a tale. Admittedly, the whole thing would be much more impressive if the two of you were still involved. . ." his mouth curled into a smug grin at that.

Thick, murderous silence followed that comment. Hawke glared at Varric in part out fury and in part because she dared not look away and catch Fenris's eye. She watched Varric's eyes dart back and forth between herself and Fenris, his smile slowly fading. Whatever he saw there, it wasn't what he had anticipated.

He coughed awkwardly and was probably on the verge of another bad joke when Anders rushed into the pub, Aveline on his heels.

"Does anyone need heeling," Anders called out as he skidded to a halt in the middle of the room, his eyes darting over the three of them on the floor, and Danarius's corpse a little way off.

Hawke reminded herself, just in time, not to roll her eyes. Anders' habit of asking who needed healing always struck her as odd. _If someone really was in rough shape, they probably aren't in any condition to ask for help, now are they?_ She thought, but she simply shook her head, smiling and replied "right as rain. Though you could check me over at the clinic, if you don't mind. I probably did a botched job healing myself. I'm out of practice." It would never do to voice her snarky thoughts to Anders. He was simply too gentle a soul to take it. He could be hurt too easily, and she'd hurt him once before, long ago. _Never again_ she had vowed, and she meant to keep that promise. Better to save the sarcasm for Varric and Isabella.

Anders returned her smile with one full of genuine warmth and compassion. He offered her a hand, and helped her rise to her feet. "Thank the Maker you are well," he said, giving her a quick embrace and soft, unexpected, kiss on the cheek. "Come by my clinic later, and I'll make sure there is no lasting damage."

"I thought I'd lost you, Hawke," Aveline breathed, before embracing her gently, but no less fiercely than Varric had. She released her friend, then turned to haul Fenris to his feet as well, hugging him in turn. "I'm glad your old master is dead, Fenris. What will you do now?" she said, upon releasing him.

Hawke turned, curious to hear what Fenris would say. Would he leave Kirkwall now that he was truly free of Danarius? _And why should I care if he does?_ She whispered to herself, angry at the small birdlike fluttering of panic she felt at the thought.

Fenris was silent for a few moments. He rubbed a hand through his hair, as though he didn't quite know how to begin. Finally, he said "I thought discovering my past would bring a sense of belonging, but I was wrong. Magic has tainted that too. There is nothing for me to reclaim. I am alone."

Pity and anger twisted inside her. _How could he think himself alone when she had risked her life, when they had all risked their lives, to help him meet his sister and free him from Danarius?! _And though she still vividly remembered the way he had looked at her, only moments ago, she couldn't stop herself from blurting out "You have friends, Fenris."

"Oh, and who would that be?" he snarled back, his green eyes flashing with disgust and rage, "You?"

She couldn't respond. She remembered telling him only that morning that they weren't friends. Hadn't been friends since that night. . .

"It certainly isn't me" Anders cut in, his own rage palpable.

_Andraste's Ass,_ Hawke thought, _next thing they'll be having a pissing contest_. "Enough," she said gently, but forcefully, laying a hand on Anders' arm. She reached for Fenris too, but he flinched away, his features twisting in revulsion, still refusing to meet her gaze. She felt rage rising in her like a tidal storm in response to his reaction. Electricity built in her finger tips. And a dark voice whispered at the edge of her hearing. She ignored them all, even the last, though it sent a wary shiver down her spine. With an effort, she strove for levity and quipped "I've seen enough bloodshed for one day. Now, all I want is a bath and a good beer. Fenris, I'm sorry that this didn't turn out the way you wanted. But I don't think things are as bleak as you do. Maybe after a decent sleep, you'll see things differently."

"You think a bath and sleep can wash this taint away?" Fenris snarled like the wolf he was named for and Hawke wasn't sure whether the taint he wanted to scrub away was hers, or his own. "You heard Varenia. I wanted these," he gestured angrily at the lyrium marking. "I competed for them. I feel unclean. Magic is not only etched into my skin, it has also stained my soul. What does magic touch that it doesn't spoil?" He raised his eyes to meet hers, in a steady hard gaze. And there could be no mistaking the double meaning of those words.

Hawke stood frozen, stunned, by the venom in those words, in that face. No one moved. No one even seemed to breathe. Hawke searched his face, feeling a sense of dread creeping up on her. _He doesn't mean it_, she thought fiercely, _he couldn't mean it._

Perhaps they had never been what one would call friends. Perhaps they had inadvertently hurt each other deeply by tumbling into bed too fast and too soon. Perhaps they would never agree when it came to magic, but he had never directly insulted her. She'd always thought he cared for her enough—however minimally—that he wouldn't think she was like them. Just another mage. Just another heartbeat away from becoming an abomination. _He didn't mean it. He knows me_, she thought.

There was a time, long ago, when no one had known her better.

Fenris broke his gaze, turned, and stormed out of the Hanged Man.

_He does know you_ another voice whispered in Hawke's ear. _He knows what you are. . . now_. She shook her head, fighting a cold shiver that settled between her shoulder blades.

She knew that last thought had not been her own.


End file.
